Trusting Intimately
by Rianne
Summary: Sara learns to trust, with a little help from Grissom. aka: the worst summary ever...


**Disclaimer:** It wasn't me…

**Author Notes:** Okay, so I'm really not sure about this one… It's one of the most intimate things I have written. I hope it's not too much.

This one is M all the way.

And yes, it may be a little out of character (or maybe not) for Sara… please suspend disbelief: Now.

**Trusting Intimately.**

_By Rianne._

She hadn't known how to tell him.

It wasn't something you could just blurt out.

And because of that it was always in the back of her mind when she was around him.

It had built from a minor issue until it was a gigantic shadowy problem.

Looming over her.

And for the last few days panic had slowly started rising.

This man, he knew so much about her.

Knew of her tortured past, knew some of her deepest fears, had seen her at her highest and her lowest.

So this should have been easy.

Especially when compared to all the pain she had endured in telling him the story of her childhood.

She still could not believe that he had stormed to her home, stoically and forcefully demanding answers.

She had been outraged at his presumptuousness.

Angry with him because he had taken so long to show any real interest in her life and when he did it had been that way.

With anger and confusion and her career at stake.

There had been no kind, concerned enquiry; instead he had practically forced her history out of her word by word as he stared her down.

Although she had to admit that he could be forgiven for not knowing what pulling that one brick from the dam would do.

He couldn't have been expected to know what monsters he was unleashing.

But in hindsight the whole encounter had been, in its own way, cathartic.

Exposing and vulnerable, accompanied by the sensation of laying herself out bare, but she had found that after sharing some of her darker secrets with him that they had formed a new understanding.

And of course he was now aware of the unending power and ongoing impact of her past.

Even she knew just how much it could sneak up on her at the first stimulus of memory, the first case that had the slightest whiff of abuse, and it was all she could do to fight to retain control over the anger she felt.

But more importantly he had heeded her request that he never treat her any differently.

A hard task and she knew it; everyone had always treated her differently once they knew.

Gil Grissom had been the lone example, the only one who had not altered the way he behaved, he had made an incredible effort for her.

She hadn't known anyone to take the telling of her secret like that, with such calm and quiet and such empathy.

Which was why it seemed mildly ridiculous that she couldn't get past this current fear.

Why the words stuck in her throat.

Especially now.

Now that they were so much closer.

Now that they were precariously balanced on the brink of the future she had wanted for so long.

But this worry that she had, this lack of confidence, it was becoming an awkwardness which filled her whenever her thoughts came close to the idea of actually being with Grissom.

She wanted to be, more than anything she had ever craved.

But her nerves and her inherent awkwardness always seemed to take over.

Always had.

With him, with the few guys in college and the even fewer dates since.

Maybe her nervousness should have been obvious in her growing physical wariness around him, but she couldn't always rely on his powers of observation where she was concerned, as time had certainly told.

He was, of course, not a mind reader. Yet, she still sometimes expected the impossible from him, despite herself.

After all it was glaringly clear that she had a cautious approach to trusting, and not just trusting him, but trusting everybody.

She had learnt to weigh people up early. Her powers in judging others were usually foolproof.

Yet she chose to befriend only a few. And those she still found herself keeping at bay.

In some ways she and Gilbert Grissom were made for one another in that sense.

Kindred spirits from the moment they had met in San Francisco.

Each recognising in a single glance a similar soul.

Yet discovering surprises and finding something more than they had ever expected in their interactions with one another.

And they both liked to keep their thoughts as thoughts.

None of this talking it out business for them.

Sometimes to their detriment.

Unless it was about work, or science, then just you try and stop their words from jousting and duelling.

The perfect opponents.

They had shared an unspoken something from minute one.

And then spent years in limbo.

She, the braver of the two had occasionally tried to push it.

Awkwardly aware that her heart wanted to seek something with his.

Unable to force away the constant twinges she felt when she merely saw him across the room.

Or the way that he infuriated her to the very last nerve ending.

She had wanted to risk it.

Wanted to risk being with him.

Opening herself up.

Suddenly feeling the urges to learn about the things they had made decisions to stay away from. Had each separately decreed they didn't need complicating their lives.

Yet looking into his eyes she had suddenly want to learn. To let this new and growing desire to feel the supposed 'experience of a lifetime' rumoured to be found in loving another and feeling loved in return, be satisfied.

And she had found herself unable to fight her primitive instincts with her scientific reasoning any longer.

But, unaccustomed and unversed, she had stumbled around lost and only learnt the burn of mortification.

She had been so open, so terrified, standing out alone, her heart in her hands.

Yet he had held back.

It could have been his age, his stuck in his ways mentality.

It could have been his own fears.

His own insecurities and oblivious tendencies.

His own uncomfortable ability to stumble and wound without meaning too.

Because she knew he felt it too.

She had seen it in his eyes.

Read it in the inflections filling out his words.

And that had hurt so much more than any of his rejections, fumbling or otherwise.

But all that had changed lately.

They were no longer stuck in two separate cyclical worlds, orbiting one another from afar, occasionally colliding in eclipsing patterns of work.

They had started spending time together away from the Lab.

Purposely seeking out one another's company.

Watching documentaries, sharing coffee, and in the last three days, sharing kisses.

Real kisses, the kind that made her nervous stomach do crazy acrobatic flips.

That made the blood rush in her ears.

That danced tongues and heartbeats and rhythms through her blood.

Left her dizzy and giddy and flushed.

And smiling.

And he was smiling too.

Looking just as sheepish and caught off guard as she was, but just as elated.

And the last kiss they had shared had started off as a gentle and soft goodnight greeting and had somehow melted into her back pressed to her apartment door with his much warmer body straining and moulded and clutching tightly to hers.

And she had felt the frantic urge to tell him.

An emotional surge to tell him everything.

She'd wanted to tell him right there and then.

Purge her nervous and heavy soul.

Maybe it would have been easier to just blurt it out, or whisper it frantically into his ear.

Or allow her hormones to ease the words out.

She had to warn him.

She didn't want him to take it personally, to doubt himself, to turn away.

She didn't want to crush this wonderful burgeoning thing that was tingling between them.

She didn't want to risk it.

To put pressure on him.

To scare him off, but she couldn't help feeling that either way she was likely to loose him.

If she didn't tell him he would wonder why.

Yet when she had thought about telling him it made her breath catch in her throat.

She hadn't even been able to imagine what his response might be.

Her big secret…

It was an awkward kind of secret, it made her feel furtive and like squirming.

Made her embarrassed and even a little afraid.

But today she found herself in that now or never situation.

Tell him.

Don't tell him.

Let him find out by himself?

Her future happiness, their future happiness, lay squarely on her shoulders.

Or at least that was how it felt.

The worry was forming a solid lump in her stomach.

They had been relaxing in his home.

Or that should be trying to relax.

It was the first time she had been there without the pretext of work to fall behind.

He had invited her to breakfast, and yet she very much doubted that there had been any thoughts of food in his head when he had issued the whispered invite.

And she had been far too distracted by the way his breath had breezed against her neck and throat to care that food was furthest thing from his mind.

It had been a long, long way from hers right about then too.

His intent had been crystal clear in the way he was standing with his body turned into hers.

Always in her personal space whenever he could, but today his palm was gently pressed to her hip, his fingers warming her through the fabric of her clothing.

He was so familiar up close, and yet so different, blurring into the unfamiliar on closer study.

Her eyes flitting to his long eyelashes, to the grey that edged his hairline, to the lips she had now enjoyed and tasted.

A leisurely exploration as if they had all the time in the world, instead of what they actually had, which was the very real possibility of interruption from someone barging into their little bubble.

But for now both of them were hidden from view by the open door of her locker.

Subtle, secretive and tantalising.

From the doorway to passing eyes they probably just looked like they were discussing, or arguing out, their latest case whilst she removed things from her locker.

Nothing to give a second glance to.

But standing there she had felt like her heart was in her throat and pounding madly.

The floor was feeling unsteady under her feet.

Or was that her legs!

She had accepted.

She wanted to go.

Wanted it more than anything.

And was completely terrified too.

More so than she had ever been in the presence of any potential lover.

She hadn't even been able to get her brain to send the impulses necessary to make her lips move.

She had simply nodded.

Agreeing to meet him at his place.

Her cheeks aflame.

And so that was where she found herself, and he had actually made the effort to offer her a mug of coffee.

Although she wasn't sure that she should be drinking it, her body was already traversed with its own natural jitters and that was making her unsteady enough.

She simply cradled the warmed ceramic in her palms, and when her nerves got too much she found calm in watching the chocolate liquid swirl.

It wasn't like her to get nervous.

Okay, that was a lie.

She truly understood that emotion, and like everyone she was afflicted by it on an almost daily basis, but she could usually cover it better than this.

She wasn't sure if he could tell.

But she imagined that each action she made shouted it loud and clear.

Especially to someone who was as astute as Grissom.

But she had a feeling that he was nervous too.

He was fidgeting.

Awkward in his own space.

He was shifting things around. Tidying the kitchen. Straightening the framed insects. Picking at imaginary lint on his clothing.

One of them was either going to have to start this, or scream, or flee, or something, or they would be circling each other like hunters forever and a day.

Was he waiting for her?

In their history she had tended to be the one who stepped off the ledge first.

She wasn't sure she could this time.

She was too vulnerable.

This was everything she thought she wanted for so long, wanted more than anything.

Literally right there at her fingertips.

And then it was happening.

He sighed softly.

Then he crossed the floor to her.

His fingers closing around hers as they clutched the mug with all her strength.

She actually jerked as he tried to wrestle the coffee away.

"I know you like your coffee, Sara," he smiled, shaking his head, knowing that the tension was easing some and that humour was quite possibly the key. "But something tells me you're not going to drink that."

She huffed just softly, pressing her lips together and looking up at him from under her lashes.

She opened her mouth, trying to find the words to speak but everything sounded stupid in her head.

He had securely placed the mug beside his on the counter.

Then his fingers were moving again, and there was this look in his eyes.

The kind that made her insides plummet several stories, like they fell into her toes.

He placed a palm to each hip, his touch very light like he worried she might spook and run.

And that made her feel a little better.

He could definitely tell she was nervous and from the slight shudder in his breathing it would be a pretty good guess to say he really was too.

They were on even ground here.

She needed to remember that.

"Tell me, Sara," he soothed, easing closer, before carefully slipping his arms around her.

She felt a sweet shiver slide down her spine as he curled warmly around her, triggering an instinctive sigh that practically purred from her.

This felt good.

Really good.

She could feel his heartbeat against her breasts.

It made her aware of her own curves, made her want to move ever so slightly so she rubbed against the weave of his polo shirt, anticipating waves of sensation which were greater than just the feel of his chest as it rose and fell, or the way his fingers were tracing gentle swirls over the fabric of her top.

"Sara," he whispered, his lips by her ear, his breath moistening the shell. "We don't have to do anything."

He paused and when she didn't respond he pulled back, his beard lightly brushing against her cheek, but his arms stayed steady.

His eyes were searching and deep.

"It's just us," his lips lifted at the corners, his eyes crinkling. "You can tell me anything."

Her tongue flitted out to moisten her lips nervously as her gaze darted away, finally settling on the wall behind his right shoulder.

"I er…" her breath caught, her voice scratchy. God this was stupid. "I…"

She looked upwards, her chest rising with effort.

"I just…I find this hard, okay."

The words rushed on an expelled breath.

And they weren't really a question at all.

They sounded defensive, self protective, and vulnerable and already she wished she could take them back, but this wasn't how any of this worked, was it.

It shouldn't be hard. None of this should be hard. It should be instinctive and primitive and responsive.

And it was, she felt all the urges that they wrote about in romance books, and yet so many years of self-preservation had ingrained themselves so deep as to become a part of her genetic make up.

They were hard habits to break away from.

But she really wanted to try.

His touch was moving again, his palms gliding up her throat to cup her face his hands.

Cradling her, his fingertips sliding into her hair, coaxing her, rubbing gently to try and relax her.

"This," he began, the tender tone in his voice drawing her eyes back to his and she was surprised to see no trace of teasing in them. Instead they were serious and dark. "is never easy when it means something."

Her lower lip found its way between her teeth as she slowly swallowed at the depth of emotion in his eyes, and in his words.

"And, Sara, this means something."

His voice was very quiet, he didn't sound like the man she knew.

The voice was the same, but the words and the way he spoke them was very different.

Her mouth opened again, her breath suddenly short, and she could see liquid swimming in her vision.

Damn, she would not cry.

She looked away, blinking rapidly to get the excess moisture under control.

He was moving again, leaving one big bear palm curving to her cheek as its twin caressed down her arm to capture her own hand and was lifting it.

Curving his larger fingers around hers with such care.

Placing her palm over his own heart, beating fast against her touch.

When she looked back at him again he was watching her face, a cautious exploration, which made her feel things she was just as unsure of.

Yet, under her fingers his breathing was still shuddery and unsteady too.

He was trying to tell her that he was terrified too, she was almost sure of it.

She lent her head forwards, leaning her forehead to his, feeling their warm breaths mingle.

Taking a quick sharp breath she clutched his shirt in her fist and breaking away she sought out his ear and let the words out.

Frantic and ineloquent, raw and trembling.

"I can't let go, I don't know how to let go."

There were tears in her voice as her secrets spilled.

He didn't move.

Didn't respond.

And in that single moment of realisation she felt her blood run cold.

She had opened her great big Pandora's box of insecurities.

She'd just exposed everything, laid herself out bare and he wasn't responding.

She had just admitted that in all her thirty-four years and several partners she had yet to really enjoy being in a man's arms and he wasn't responding.

It was hard enough to know of his previous conquests, but to have to admit something like this when she knew of just how uninhibited at least one of them was.

And here she was, just gangly, geeky, emotional wreak Sara, hovering above the abyss.

Already knowing that if he didn't react soon she would drown in her own shame, embarrassment and sadness.

He wasn't freaking responding.

She couldn't stand it.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

He'd told her she could tell him anything.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

She pushed hard on his chest, fighting her way out of the circle of his arms.

Her intent the door, and the freedom beyond it.

She only made it three steps before she found herself engulfed by him once again.

Huge arms banding around her upper body.

She was trembling, overwhelmed and battling rushing adrenaline and swelling tears.

But he was so much stronger, and he was holding her tightly.

Stroking her arms and her back and her hair.

She was making a fool out of herself, making this more than it was.

But she couldn't seem to stop the flood she had set in motion.

Then his lips were on hers.

Kissing her with such intensity, knocking the breath out of her, knocking some of the fear right along with it, sending unspent tears cascading down her cheeks in freefall.

When he finally let her breathe again they both swayed in the centre of his room, with hearts a thundering.

He was smiling, his rough edged thumbs stroking away her hot tears.

His eyes were soft, heavy-lidden, as she imagined hers were.

No one had ever kissed her like he did and it gave her hope.

Her body responded every time.

"Slowly," he whispered, a loaded promise.

And a very serious commitment.

"Do you trust me?"

She caught the flicker of fear in his eyes as he asked the question, understood in that single flicker how much this all meant to him too.

Her responding, "yes," was breathless, she couldn't take her eyes from his and the dancing intensity playing there.

His smile broadened and became truer, and she managed to wobblingly return it.

They sealed their deal with another kiss, gentle this time, a slow exploration with a new sense of calm ebbing between them.

And that kiss led to more as he teased open her soft lips, and swallowed her intimate sigh.

Maybe it would be different this time?

The few men that she had been with had either not seemed to realise, for she had perfected faking with the art of a professional, or simply they had not cared enough to notice.

It was different this time, this time there some heady emotions involved.

The stroke of his lips was warming urges through her, was raising goosebumps across vulnerable and sensitive skin.

His arms felt warm and wanting, convulsively clutching and releasing her as his own sensations traversed his body.

She was stirring, but she had felt that before, stirring her had never been the problem; it had just been that final climb which had always eluded her and left her body taut with tension and frustration.

The guys often teased her about being grumpy and moody, God if they only knew why!

Her other dirty little secret.

She couldn't let herself go.

Not with anyone.

Not even by herself.

It was a trust issue.

A fear of loosing control and exposing herself to vulnerability.

But knowing that didn't help her one little bit.

And she knew too that it wasn't particularly the men to blame.

And she was even more aware that with Grissom there was a whole other level to her nerves, a whole other vast sea of emotions that she already struggled to control.

Just standing beside him talking had her brain and body abuzz with stimulation.

Knowing what simple interactions did to her, added a whole new layer of intensity to any possible, much more intimate, exchanges.

She was afraid of herself, afraid of what that lack of control might do, what influences it had over her.

But her big dark secret was known now, known by the one man who needed to know and it was already a relief, she felt different, there was a little less weight in her body, but that could also be from the current lack of oxygen in her system.

She literally had to snatch her lips away, shuddering her own gasp, and then panting, a big goofy smile on her face.

A smile that only faltered slightly as he took her hand in his and gently pulled her after him.

The twinge of nervousness that threaded through her belly calmed when instead of guiding her to his bedroom he halted by a large comfortable armless chair and sitting down in it, casually with legs spread looking relaxed and wonderfully inviting, he tugged her fingers to suggest she follow after him.

She wavered before him a moment cautious as to his motives, but when he repeated, "trust me," with such desire in his eyes, she couldn't resist him, and taking a breath she let him help her into his lap.

"Is this okay?" he enquired as she carefully lowered her weight over his thighs, her legs not quite reaching the floor either side of the chair. All the while making sure to keep a careful distance between their chests and other more intimate places.

"I'm not too heavy?" her voice sounded thick and unused. Her nerves were returning full force too.

He chuckled at her, "No."

She licked her lips again, finding them swollen and sensitive, and still tingling from his previous onslaught.

She gave into a small smile, feeling it growing.

His palms were moving up and down her back, squeezing her shoulders on the upward sweep, attempting to relax her. To let her get used to the new position.

Which was sweet, but seriously, she was nervous about being with him, and disappointing him by being unresponsive, but she was no virgin.

Just another complicated nuance of Sara Sidle behaviour.

It took a woman who spent her days around men to appreciate the tendencies of a gentleman.

But this man beneath her, now that she was this close to him…

This wasn't the geeky scientist she was used to.

Up close he was all male, seriously all male.

And he was looking at her lips again, his concentration hungry.

She stroked the lower one with the edge of her tongue and he shifted beneath her.

Acting as if he was just re-positioning her.

"I thought I wasn't heavy," she managed to whisper, the corners of her eyes quirking as she teased. Suddenly feeling more like her normal self.

He smiled, looking away from her quickly, surprisingly shy, and then she swooped, leaning forward she slid her arms up his chest and curled her fingertips into the hair at the nape of his neck before gliding down for a kiss.

Trembles of pleasure rippling through her as she found herself pleased and amazed by herself and her actions.

It was the first kiss she had initiated and her brain was buzzing like the very first time, the crazy thought at the forefront of her mind being, _'Oh God! I'm kissing Grissom!_'

She felt elated and giddy and affectionate and downright great!

His mouth was sliding, easing away from her lips as she gasped for air, sliding slowly over her chin, hearing her breath catch as his tongue flitted out to taste the line of her jaw and the sensitive skin under.

He trailed up to her ear, and she was surprised to hear herself groan, a faint low sound, as his beard seared the skin of her neck and throat.

He breathed against her ear, stroking the shell with his lips, and she felt them curve as he smiled at her shivers.

"May I touch you?"

Four words laced with such aching longing sent a cringe of desire so intense down between her thighs that she instinctively sank her nails into the flesh of his neck, making him gasp too.

But his sound brought back a little reality.

She had hurt him! Oh God!

She pulled him closer, dipping his head and resting it on her shoulder, so she could see his neck, cringing this time in embarrassment at the array of raw pink half moons that branded his skin.

She was murmuring, "Sorry, I'm so sorry, oh god!" Stroking her fingertips over his wounds.

See, this, was what happened when she really got carried away.

She'd hurt him.

But he was shaking her off, responding with his own soft murmurings, all of which centred around her making him hers, branding him, words a tease, but also a truth.

She took a few more minutes to fully placate her, and then somehow they were kissing again.

Her kisses full of breathless apology, his soothing, and then picking up to heat the air between them again.

She felt like she was floating, her whole body starting to hum.

He pulled her closer, fitting her body more intimately to his.

She could feel the heat of him straining through the jeans he wore.

All male.

Pressing right against the heat beginning between her own thighs.

Perfectly aligned.

His hands were sliding again, one in her hair, one tempting more pain by sliding down to her backside, pressing over her, pressing her closer to him.

But despite the fight she waged not to gasp at the more intimate contact, she managed to keep her nails to herself this time.

She could smell him.

Male and aroused, there was a thin sheen of sweat glowing along his hair line.

She was trying not to think, but her mind was filled with sensations to process.

Heat, touch, ache, yearning.

The way his thumb stroked along the small bared strip of skin between her jeans and her top. Each stroke guiding her hips to rock slow and steady against him.

Finding her own rhythm. Easy and instinctive. Restless and building.

She could feel the raw intimate heat, her clothes starting to stick to her skin, writhing together like teenagers, she had never been more aroused in her entire life.

And the sensual onslaught was nowhere near over yet.

Thank goodness!

Her fingers brushed over the buttons on his top, she just couldn't control it, her newly awakened arousal spurring her onwards, to slide her palms down his solid chest, but his hand seized hers as her touch made to glide under the fabric.

He was shaking his head.

Kissing the very tips of her fingers reverently, guiding them back to the chair behind his head.

"Just you. I want to concentrate on you."

She tried to protest, to tell him that she wanted to touch him just as much, but he was kissing her again and the words drifted away as she tried to vocalise them.

Then he was slowing, his fingers twitching restlessly.

He was hesitating.

Wait… hadn't he asked her something; her brain was a delicious fog.

He had wanted permission. Consent to touch her.

She could do this, she could be as confident as any woman she saw on TV, or Catherine, or even the infamous shadowy Lady Heather for that matter.

She just had to go with her heart, to voice her hungers and her urges.

She pressed another gentle kiss to his lips before brushing them over his beard to hover over his ear just as he had done to her.

"Touch me," the words shivered out of her and she got even more of a reaction than she had expected.

Between her legs she actually felt him throb and the residual shudder that rumbled through him along with his groan had her gasping too.

And then his hands were everywhere, with such an intensity that he must have been holding back with a strength of many men.

Stroking her through her clothes, his hands surrounding and huge and unbelievably hot.

She groaned so loudly she even embarrassed herself, breaking away from his kiss, when his touch captured her breasts.

Her thin shirt and flimsy bra were no barrier to him.

Gasping, her hips surged instinctively forward against him, as his thumbs flitted over the tips and squeezed.

And the heat and pleasure that shot downward through her tilted her head back on her shoulders, her mouth open in a silent cry, her body arching toward him, instinctively offering and he was more than glad to receive.

Her hips now rocking and seeking without his encouragement.

His mouth was drawn in to the newly exposed expanse of throat, his tongue sliding out to stroke and taste, leaving the skin tingling and sucking hot against her thundering pulse.

Then his lips were on hers again, teasing tongue eagerly welcomed, as she climbed higher and higher.

And his touch left her breasts, swollen and sensitive and glided lower, over her stomach.

Only to pause at the round metal fastener on her jeans.

Their kisses slowed, he was waiting again, waiting for permission he did not need.

She kept on kissing, to keep her brave, hardly believing she was in the moment she found herself in, as she touched her fingers to his on her fastener, brushing them away and flicking open the top button before guiding his hand right back.

Permission granted.

She felt like a movie star temptress.

She felt powerful and alive and she was simply not allowing that thing called thinking.

Not letting herself worry or obsess about the step they had just made all without speaking.

Then her zipper was slowly growling and the sound was so blindingly arousing that her eyes rolled.

She could have sworn that as each individual tab was set free that her desire kicked up another heated notch.

She was panting into his mouth, wanton and becoming frantic and swept away and it was fantastic.

The zipper on her jeans wasn't deep, but the fabric was stretchy and her elastic waist of her soft underwear no barrier to his venturing fingers.

His fingers were warm and huge as they teased slowly into the gap between her flesh and her jeans.

His strokes down over the gossamer fabric of her underwear were careful and light.

Thank God she had chosen a nice pair this morning, it could have so easily been a boring slightly threadbare pair, it must have been fate.

Then her cheeks were roaring with heat as he pressed more firmly against her, a gasp escaping her throat that was laced with embarrassment as much as it was pleasure at just how moist the fabric felt.

It was only natural, and whilst half of her was thankful that she was responding, the other was tingling and flushing shyly.

Then his fingers were withdrawing, gliding upwards teasingly without breaking contact.

Then tentatively easing under the band of elastic and finding their way under the soft cloth.

His fingertips really warm and slightly rough as they eased their return pathway lower, tousling the soft hair and then she just couldn't contain the noise that escaped her at the first real stroke of his fingertip.

But she didn't miss the groan that poured from him at the instant he encountered the heat and silky wet of her.

That sound.

Nothing had ever made her feel more sensual and desirable in her entire life.

Then his fingers were a flurry of motion, gliding and swirling, swiping at the sensitive rise over and over as she sucked sharply on his lower lip, her thighs tensing and her toes curling.

At the dip of his first finger she arched like an animal, releasing his lip to cry out, feeling dizzy and wild.

And still he coaxed her higher, a second finger joining the first whilst his thumb took up rhythm against her clit, sending beats of sensation flooding through her.

His mouth captured hers once again, swallowing her pants and small sounds, his tongue starting to thrust into her mouth, causing friction against hers, imitating the more intimate motion of his fingertips.

Breaking the kiss to gasp her eyes flickered open and found he was watching her.

His gaze so powerful and intense that her stomach flipped and she clenched around his fingers releasing a desperate groan.

Her face was always so expressive, he was reading her, cataloguing her responses, reactions and that was terrifying. His eyes so intense and aroused they were almost all black.

She tried to govern her betraying features back into something calmer, feeling her cheeks flaming, but he was shaking his head.

"No," he was almost begging and the hoarseness in his voice was staggering, "let me see."

How could she resist him?

Her eyes rolled, this was just too overwhelming, her head was lolling, undulating from side to side, panting frantically as the sweetness built and built in her body with roaring speed.

His fingers and their hungry stroke becoming the very epicentre of everything.

She had no understanding of what she hoped was to come other than the descriptions in books, or the contorted faces and cries she had witnessed in films.

But she did know that the clitoris was supposed to be the only organ just for pleasure, and damn until right now she could have sworn that hers had been broken, that she had been the only woman in existence to disprove the theory.

Yet right now that tiny beating bud was the centre of her universe and she felt like his caressing it might very well kill her if the tension didn't break soon.

But she did know that the fire she felt was more than anything she had ever experienced before.

And a part of her wanted to hold back in case she just couldn't withstand the onslaught that was beating on the horizon.

Hold back!

She was literally riding his fingers and yet embarrassment was some forgotten emotion left thousands of miles and stimulated nerve endings behind her.

It was so surreal. Here she was astride him, writhing like a mad woman, in broad daylight in the middle of his living room!

If it weren't for the warm arm around her hips she would have tumbled to the floor by now, she should be ashamed of herself, yet beneath her he seemed to be intensifying his erotic ambush.

Looking up at her like she was the most amazing sight he had ever seen.

God, this was going to be okay.

She did, she did trust him.

She loved him.

And then something was changing.

His fingers were curling forwards inside her.

His pressure increasing.

And then there were stars in her vision as her body shattered.

Her heart skipping a beat.

Falling and flying.

As the most natural sensation in the world swept breathlessly through her.

A sweet, sharp flare was roaring through her body.

The sweet heat of it was spreading out.

Flooding everywhere.

Her insides beating in circular thumps around his still coaxing fingers.

Her thighs tremblingly wildly against his.

Before her heart roared a thunder.

And that wild sound, god, that was her!

Clutching him tighter, her head swaying falling backwards.

Feeling his body shuddering too.

She forced her eyes open.

Finding his still fixed on her.

Falling deep into his gaze.

Letting him see.

Feeling so powerful and so defenceless.

Finalllllllyyyyyyy!

Before she slumped, the energy gone from her body.

Tumbling forwards into the welcoming cradle of him.

For the first time in her entire life there wasn't a single thought in her head for at least a minute.

Oh, so this was what it felt like to finally be sated.

These shivers of pleasure still washing through her still trembling skin.

Her muscles like jelly.

All except those which worked her smile.

That thing had a mind of its own right now.

It felt like it took up her whole face.

She snuggled into him.

Letting the world just swim around her.

Feeling the blood rushing through her veins.

Endorphin high shivers licking her nerve endings.

There was a wonderful heavy feeling in her limbs.

And everything was quiet, except for their calming breathing.

After a short while she wondered if he had maybe fallen asleep.

The warm palm on her back had slowed, now rested against the skin, calm and still.

Peeping up at him, her eye line level with his chin, she was pleased to find him still awake and with her, what she wasn't surprised by was seeing that he was smiling too.

And even she couldn't be mad at his smug grin.

The man had just reduced her to a mindless quivering rag doll without even removing a stitch of her clothing.

Had coaxed the mythical beast of her elusive orgasm out of its shell.

Yeah, that deserved all the smugness in the world.

She'd literally give him anything right now.

Yet he seemed blissfully content to just smile at her as he took up stroking his palm up and down her back, once again, his other hand still trapped between their bodies, witnessing the fading tremors in her muscles.

God, she could have closed her eyes and slept right here, right now.

But that would be selfish.

And that just wasn't who she was.

She reached up and pressed her lips to the vulnerable skin under his jaw, pleased to feel him squirm.

And to have him distracted as her fingers found their way to his belt.

Only to be caught by his.

He was shaking his head.

She persevered until his free hands actually seized hers tightly.

She lifted her face, her eyes searching.

Wait.

He was blushing. Really blushing.

He tried to speak, but his voice was just a gravelly growling sound.

And then she got it.

There was decidedly more space in his jeans.

That smile wasn't just from watching her satisfaction.

It was partially his too.

Just from watching her.

He was clearing his throat and trying to speak again.

But she found herself giggling.

Tightening her hold on him.

Kissing the flush beneath the beard.

Feeling giddy and happy and connected to him in a whole new and unfathomable way.

And he eventually laughed too; his soft rumbles a lulling comfort.

When her head and eyelids dipped again, she felt him nudge her gently.

"Sara," his voice had come back. " I think we might be a little more comfortable in the other room."

Comfortable?

Damn she hadn't felt more comfortable for as long as she could remember!

But there was that nagging growing discomfort of sticky and soggy jeans, and he obviously was just as uncomfortable.

"It's not that you're heavy, honey, but I can't feel my legs!"

She leant back and eyed him and his faint smirk.

Then she slowly made to untangle herself.

"Would you like a shower to freshen up?" His offer was a surprise, and welcome.

She found herself being helped up, his hand sliding out of her clothing, reluctantly, and shyly.

Both amused by their corresponding wobbly legs.

Still a little slow to process, wandering a little dazed.

Wondering what to do now, for a moment unsure about how to be around one another.

Which was stupid, but them to a tee.

And then in a blur he was moving again, she was being handed a big fluffy bath towel, and a t-shirt and a pair of his shorts, and nudged in the direction his big bathroom, with a soft kiss to her hair.

The woman beaming back at her from the reflective glass above his sink couldn't possibly be her!

Who was that intruder with the flushed cheeks and crazy hair and the smile as big as Texas?

She considered the mirror woman for a moment.

Most women in books said they expected to look different when they lost their virginity.

Way back when she had lost hers she hadn't seen any difference at all.

She studied herself now, same freckles, same nose…

Her lips were swollen, but the real kicker was the eyes.

They were glowing.

Dancing like they contained their own tiny fireflies.

She felt good.

Really good.

Goofily good.

Whole body good and a warm deluge of hot water was only going to make that better.

He was as quick with his own shower when she returned.

He had smiled at the sight of her dwarfed by his clothing, and had guided her to sit on his bed, make herself comfortable.

He had placed bottles of water and juice by the bedside.

The TV was on, the sound muted, the news in Vegas spiralling by across the bottom of the screen, as she curled up under the covers, feeling surprisingly at home as she sipped from a bottle of the juice.

He was back within minutes, dressed comfortably as she was.

His hair still damp at the edges of his curls.

He climbed onto the bed beside her.

Reaching for her as if it was normal for them to be curled up together in his bed and that felt wonderful too.

"How are you feeling?" He spoke very quietly.

Her blush and huge smile were response enough, but she spoke anyway, "good, really good." Her voice sounded all dreamy and love sick, God help her!

She looked up at him coyly.

"That's good," he nodded. "Are you tired? We could sleep?"

She hummed softly in response and so they curled up together, shifting and adjusting until they felt just right in each other's arms.

He flicked off the TV and darkness descended over the room.

And she lay in his arms, just thinking over what had happened.

Enjoying the way he caressed her, restless and soothing.

Here she felt safer; it felt easier to say the words she wanted too.

She nuzzled close to his ear and whispered, "Thank you," the emotional weight behind her words was amazing.

He would never fully understand just how grateful she was, or the wonderful sense of confidence he had given her.

"Sara," his voice breezed into her hair, stirring the strands, "do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?"

His words were serious, but that didn't mean she should believe them and she huffed in derision at him.

"You are amazingly responsive, you really have never…" He squeezed her tighter to him, as she shook her head against his chest.

He breathed out in a huff.

"It's…" She began dreamily, the emotions hugging the memory making it all sweet and wistful. How on earth could she describe the sensation, which had swept her, without being trite or cliché?

But her tone was enough to give some insight into her feelings.

He laughed softly. "Oh yes…" He paused, "I knew you were nervous, but I didn't suspect anything like that would be the reason." His fingers were stroking again, lightly swirling circles on her arm.

"Yeah, I was going to get right on telling the world all about my embarrassing sexual inadequacies!" Her laugh sounded a little forced, but it was out before she could stop the clear sign of her returning anxiety and self doubt.

But he heard it.

"Sara," He began, "I have never been with a woman so open or so honest about how she feels. You were so instinctive and erotic. I don't ever remember being that aroused just from touching before." He sighed. "I'm sorry that no one has ever taken the time to see that in you before."

His lips were dancing over her hair now as he whispered.

"Maybe you just weren't with the right person until now."

And then he smiled, his curving lips warm against her crown.

"And you think you're that guy?" She couldn't help but tease.

"I'd like to try." He was attempting bravado, but he missed it by just a few millimetres, but that made it all the better, all the more perfect.

Lifting her head she searched out his lips in the darkness and she kissed him, laughing as their mouths met, kiss flavoured by the sweet peach she had been drinking and their happiness.

And then they were kissing more and more, intense sweeping tongues and heat, curling tightly around one another, arms and legs winding to keep the other close, heart rates picking up, her body already stirring again, it had been only minutes, but he had awoken something that she didn't ever want to hold back.

"I thought you were tired?!" She heard him stutter between her kisses.

"Who me?" she literally gasped back, her fingers finding their way unrestrained this time under his shirt. "Of you?! Never!" she replied before capturing his lips again.


End file.
